


Don't Rock the Boat

by Amberdreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Happy Birthday Sam Winchester, Hurt, Hurt!Sam Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, kraken aftermath, lost at sea, stupid self sacrificing Winchesters, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 05:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14513868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberdreams/pseuds/Amberdreams
Summary: The kraken had really done a number on both Sam and the boat...





	Don't Rock the Boat

Sam’s eyes are gummed shut and his nostrils caked with salt and blood. His mouth is desert-dry from breathing with it open, but the soft rhythmic smack of the waves against the wooden hull of their boat is strangely soothing. His head is blissfully empty, his mind as adrift as they are, stuck a half-mile offshore without oars or an engine. The kraken had really done a number on both Sam and the boat, but not even the pain from his creaking ribs can disturb Sam’s becalmed thoughts. If he didn’t think his face would crack from the motion, he’d smile.  
  
Only one thing could cut through his blanket of serenity – or rather, only one person.  
  
The boat rocks.  
  
“Don’t even think about it, Dean.”  
  
Sam can barely manage more than a croak, but the boat’s movement returns to the gentler rocking of the waves. Eyes still closed, Sam continues. This is important. Worth the effort. He puts all his strength into his words.  
  
“You try and slip over the side, or turn that gun on yourself, and you can be sure of one thing. I’ll be right behind you.”  
  
  
“Sammy.” Dean’s voice is rougher than its usual moonshine rasp, which reinforces Sam’s conviction that Dean hasn’t been taking his share of the water he’s been periodically tipping down Sam’s throat. Dean’s next words cement that belief.  “There’s only enough drinking water for one of us, and even that may not be enough to keep you alive until we reach the shore or someone finds us.”  
  
Fucking stubborn, that’s Dean. Typical big brother _; t_ hinks he’s being super-reasonable, that his way is the best way, blah, blah, blah. Sam’s sigh is louder than the breeze off the shore that’s so frustratingly out of their reach.  
  
Words are not enough; Sam’s going to have to bring reinforcements. With an effort, he opens his eyes. Well, perhaps  _open_  is an exaggeration; open implies the whites might perhaps be showing, and that Sam might actually be able to see something. What actually happens is Sam’s right eye lets in a sliver of weak daylight, while his left lid remains firmly gummed shut. Frustrated, Sam flails a hand around until he hits something, and his fist closes on Dean’s wrist. Bones creak as Sam tightens his grip and there’s a clatter as something Sam assumes is Dean’s gun drops into the bottom of the boat.  
  
“Ow, Sammy, fuck!”  
  
Sam’s earlier resolution against smiles of any kind is blown away on the cold Atlantic wind. HIs grin cracks his lips in several places, but his sense of vindication outweighs the sting of the salt in the open wounds. Sam relaxes and leans back against the hard edge of the gunwale.  
  
His eyes close again but he doesn’t let go of Dean.  
  
“You don’t get to leave,” Sam says, just to make sure Dean understands. Dean’s pulse is steady under Sam’s cold fingers and Sam thinks about the Empty. Billie promised them nothing, and to be honest, right now, nothing feels quite an attractive prospect.  
  
He’s sure in the Nothing there wouldn’t be any Krakens to squeeze the life out of him, or freezing spray whacking his face at random intervals, keeping him awake.  
  
His heartbeat is loud in his ears, keeping arrhythmic time with the slapping of the waves and the echoing muddy slough in his lungs. Distracted, he almost misses Dean’s words.  
  
“You don’t get to leave either,” Dean manages to sound both resigned and affronted, and Sam almost smiles again but decides against it. Too much effort. He settles for leaning against Dean, who’s much softer than the side of the boat.  
  
“Like you said,” Dean continues, “if there’s dying to be done, we do it together.”  
  
Sam feels Dean’s arm wrap around him and turns his head into Dean’s soggy shoulder. Maybe they should have taken the opportunity to steal some of those heavy duty waterproofs from the lifeboat station when they had the chance, but right now, Sam’s kind of glad Dean’s wearing his usual layers. Beneath the raw scents of the ocean and Sam’s own blood, he can still smell Dean. Which should be gross, but isn't.  
  
Dean’s arm comes round Sam’s neck and pulls him in close.  
  
“All right, snuggle bunny,” Dean says, and Sam can hear the hint of a smile under the gruff tone. “Just don’t expect me to sing the fucking song.”  
  
  
  



End file.
